


we looked like giants

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: High School AU, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, boys kissing and being dumb, did i mention all they do is kiss, it all starts with a driving lesson, that's it that's the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 14:34:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6474220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where they still got time to figure it all out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we looked like giants

**Author's Note:**

> This is very self-indulgent and boring, but I cannot believe I wrote it until the end. It's a huge achievement to my shameless quitter of an ass. I feel like I could use a bottle of wine
> 
> I'd like to thank Vik for the constant support and sweet words in response to this fic. Thank you for enduring my long complaints, always
> 
> Bear in mind that English is not my first language so there are probably many, many mistakes
> 
> This is a work of fiction etc and blah
> 
> If you're reading this, ta! You're rad. It stopped making sense halfway through

* * *

  

The air was cold and dry when Harry left his house with only his mobile in hands. He blinked a few times at the wintry white sky and let out a heavy sigh, trying to shake off the coldness of the mid-autumn Sunday morning out of his bones. There was frost all over the windows, piles of yellow and red leaves cluttering the ground, and the dead grass looked sad and brown. Smoke gradually went up the chimneys on rooftops across the street. He pulled down his navy-blue beanie to cover his ears, feeling a bit melancholic, and was about to call Louis when a rusty old car stopped at his driveway.

“Hi, gorgeous, want a ride?” A sleepy boy asked in a low voice after rolling down the window, all crinkled eyes and soft smile.

“I dunno, mum is always telling me not to talk to charming strangers in shitty cars.”

“Just get in, you loser, I can see you’re cold,” Louis giggled. He stretched his body to open the passenger’s door for Harry from the inside, poking out his tongue in concentration, because the door wouldn’t open from the outside anymore. It had something to do with a hit and run or something, when Louis’ mum was on her way to work a couple of years ago. Harry wasn’t sure.

“Thanks, Lou!” he said happily, also thankful for the heater at full blast.

Louis’ eyes were warm and welcoming and the exact opposite picture of the day outside. His face was a bit puffy from too much sleep, Harry could tell, but he still was one of the most beautiful people Harry had ever met. His blue eyes were almost translucent under the pale morning light.

“Are you ready for your first driving lesson?” Louis hummed along with the radio, his thick accent perceptible; it was clear he had visited his grandparents upper North. He was driving them towards the exit of Holmes Chapel, taking the habitual road to get to an open field where they could practise and be alone. He was eighteen but he didn’t have his driving licence yet; even so it wasn’t an unusual thing to see underage people driving around when one lived in a really small town. His grandfather had taught him how to drive when he’d turned fourteen and still lived in Doncaster, which felt like a lifetime ago. He didn’t talk much about his life before moving to Cheshire. Sometimes he’d give Harry little glimpses of his old life before falling asleep in Harry’s bed on weekends, when the bedroom was dark and secrets didn’t feel too heavy or too much of a burden to share.

“Do you think your mum will freak out when she finds out you’re letting me touch her car?” Harry bit his lower lip, not able to hide his nervousness.

“Nah, she won’t mind,” replied Louis without much conviction. “Anyway, she’ll only find out if you tell.”

“Or if someone sees us!” Harry protested.

Louis shrugged, focusing his attention on the road and moving his lips silently to the rhythm of the song, a 90’s pop tune slightly familiar. They passed the village centre, small red brick buildings all on the same road (pub, cost cutter, pharmacy, cinema, Harry’s favourite disco store), only taking a few minutes to reach the outskirts of town. Harry mindlessly watched the bare trees and the still decaying trees through the window, the forest green fields stretching ahead of them. They lived in a very bucolic region. He thought about all the little things that made that car so special, turning his eyes to the ceiling: the bite mark behind the driver’s seat where one of the twins had bitten angrily while throwing a tantrum. The cigarette burn on the backseat from that time Louis got too high and started gesturing wildly while telling Harry about the Stars Wars movie he had finally watched—one of the first proper conversations they’d had. The stain right above Harry’s head from when one of Louis’ sisters had insisted to open and try to drink a shaken up can of Coca-Cola. That’s what happens when you have too many kids, Louis’ mum had told Harry once over a loud dinner at the Tomlinson’s, but she had a fond smile curving her lips and her eyes were glowing with mirth. She’d pretended not to notice the cigarette burn, or at least she’d spared Harry the lecture.

“Okay, let’s switch sits,” Louis demanded some time later and stopped the car in the middle of the field. Harry did as he was told.

“I think,” Harry chuckled anxiously. His hands held the steering wheel very tightly. “I think your mum is the last person on earth to drive a stick.”

“Stop, you’ll be fine, I promise. It’s easy once you finally get it going.”

“If you say so...”

“Yes I say so! Now, first things first... I’ve taught some of it to you before... Wait!!! What am I thinking. Seatbelt on, lad! You know, safety is important, after all.”

“Lou...”

“Now, now. No need to be nervous,” he said kindly. His hands brushed Harry’s, fixing them on the steering wheel. “Okay. Remember: far left, clutch. Middle, brake. Right, accelerator. Easy, right?”

“Wrong.” Harry frowned, trying to remember how to keep breathing. “Why would I need to use the clutch anyway, it’s just nonsense.”

“Manual driving is not hard, Hazza, I promise you.” Louis chuckled. “Okay, before starting the car make sure the gear shift is on neutral.”

Teaching Harry how to drive involved many overdramatic cries and swears, but Louis was patient and extra nice and made sure to call it a day when he realised Harry was getting frustrated. The only good thing to come out of the whole fiasco was having Louis so close to him. Harry longed for the small touches, the way Louis fingers would feel on his skin, soothing him, encouraging him to try again. He wanted to drive them home and carry him to his bedroom so they could hide under the blankets and watch whatever series Louis was obsessing over that time.

Cracks of gold and pink and dark blue painted the sky, visible between a whirl of grey clouds, when they drove back into town. The temperature had dropped a few degrees fast. Harry felt his stomach complain the lack of lunch or snacks the whole way back home, and he groaned. He checked the time on his phone (03:00pm) and the two missed calls (from his mum).

“Do you have to babysit or can you stay over for a while?” Harry asked when Louis parked behind Harry’s stepdad’s truck on the driveway. “I mean, if you don’t have anything else to do. It’s okay if you do, I know you’ve got a lot of friends and...”

“It’s fine, I can stay for a bit.” Louis smiled fondly at him, opened the driver’s door to jump out. His worn-out Toms loudly crushed the accumulation of twigs scattered on the ground. “Besides, it’s Sunday, I know your mum made that delicious banana cake I’ve been dreaming about.”

“I knew you only hung out with me for the food.”

“That, and your fit mum, of course.”

Harry flipped him off, getting into his house with Louis cackling close behind. His mum was sitting on the sofa holding a cup of tea, a movie starring Meryl Streep on low volume on the telly, and she arched a curious eyebrow at the sight of them.

“Where have you boys been?” She frowned. Louis once had told Harry he had the habit of pulling that same face without noticing. “You missed lunch. Louis, love, your mum tells me you stole her car and disappeared on her?”

“She was just being a drama queen, Mrs. Twist, I had her full permission to drive that car.” He looked at her with huge eyes. The epitome of innocence.

“And what were you two doing for so long?” Mum tilted her head a little, knowing better than to believe Louis. “I hope you’re not putting my son’s life at risk?”

“I’d never do that,” Louis said, sounding slightly offended. He sucked in a deep breath, bashful. “What I mean is, you know I’d never do that, he’s too important to me.”

“Good.” She smiled sweetly and shooed them with her free hand. “There’s food in the kitchen if you’re hungry.”

“Thanks, miss Anne!” Louis shouted brightly, pushing Harry towards the kitchen.

“Thanks, mum.”

“You’re welcome, boys,” she sing-sang, laughter clear in her voice.

Harry reheated the Mediterranean vegetables wraps and the homemade chips in the microwave while Louis put two plates on the table, moving around in awful dance moves to make Harry laugh. His heart ached, his chest heavy with bubbling feelings he hadn’t figured out how to handle just yet. Louis was very beautiful. Louis was very beautiful and very gentle, but there was also a sharpness in him that could draw the simplest attention. Harry couldn’t quite stop looking at him when he thought Louis wasn’t looking.

“You know,” Louis moaned once the food was ready, mouthful of chips. “Reheated chips are disgusting. So I don’t know what magic your mum does to make them taste so good even after you put them in the microwave.”

“Hummm,” Harry agreed.

Later, after lunch and tea and slices of banana cake, Louis lay sprawled on Harry’s bed, patting his own belly with his eyes closed. Harry snickered, sitting on the chair by his small studying desk. His notebook and his laptop were shut on top of it.

“Your mum is the best cook I know,” Louis sighed dreamily. “I even enjoy eating vegetables when I come over. Don’t tell my mum I said that though. She’ll try to make me eat those repulsive baby carrots she’s been buying.”

“I won’t.”

Louis opened his left eye and gave Harry a funny look, scrunching up his nose.

“Wanna watch something?”

“I need to finish reading _Hamlet_ for my English class,” Harry whined.

“Oh! _To be, or not to be,–that is the question:–whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them_? Right? _The fair Ophelia!–Nymph, in thy orisons...be all my sins remember’d._ ”

“Fuck off,” Harry groaned, throwing the secondhand book at Louis, who was now jumping on the bed. “Why do you always know everything. I hate it.”

“Well I _am_ older.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Also that’s a really well-known quote, mate. Also I used to be into theatre back in Doncaster. I might have played Hamlet himself a couple of times in school.”

“Did you really???” Harry exclaimed, mouth agape.

“Yeah, you know that.”

“No I do not!”

“I’m sure I’ve talked about it before.” Louis made a dismissive hand gesture, sitting down on the mattress. His eyes were dark when he looked at Harry. “Played Danny Zuko too.”

“What! That’s...” _Hot_ , he thought, feeling his cheeks burn.

“C’mere, we can read it together,” said Louis very gently, lopsided smile on his face.

Harry walked over to the bed deliberately slow. Louis made room for him, and they lay together side by side in silence. He lift the book to his face and started reading in a grave serious voice, asking Harry to read lines from time to time so he wouldn’t get lost in the plot. Harry felt nervous, his heart pounding in his chest, his hands awkward on his belly. They were so close, he kept telling himself. Personal space wasn’t a concept they valued much when they were together, there wasn’t anything new in their physical proximity, and yet Harry found himself full of butterflies in his stomach, his heart trying to carve its way out of his chest. _You give me butterflies_ , he sang quietly in his own head.

Louis’ voice was almost silky. Harry wasn’t sure when, but at some point Louis reading aloud turned into a soft whisper, sunlight fading so quickly that the bedroom became dark in the blink of an eye. It was comfy, snuggling like that. Cuddling Louis made Harry feel so warm he felt like he was melting. Louis smelled pleasant and familiar, it was intoxicating Harry’s senses; his hair smelt like actual apricot. He knew he was dozing off before it was happening.

He woke up to the sound of Louis phone going off somewhere under them, Louis’ short snores filling up the room. The lights were out and Harry’s head was heavy; he jumped into a sitting position in minor confusion. Louis huffed, unhappy, making a whiny sound in the back of his throat.

“Lou? Lou, I think your mum is calling,” Harry cleared his own throat, stretching his body to reach the cat-shaped lamp on the nightstand. Soft yellow light flooded the bedroom.

“What.” Louis blinked at him, lazily licking his lips, Adam’s apple bobbing. Harry averted his eyes. Louis sounded hoarse and a bit spent, and Harry felt a shiver run down his spine. “Shit. Shit, we fell asleep.”

“Yeah.”

“Shit. What time is it?” He got out of bed in a hurry, fumbling for his mobile. “Fuck, six thirty. I gotta go home.”

“’Kay,” Harry agreed helplessly.

“You did so great today, Harry,” Louis said proudly. He brushed Harry’s curls off his eyes with his fingers.

“You’ll get the hang of it real soon. Then I can make you my private driver.”

“Sure,” he scoffed, but couldn’t hold back his pleased grin.

Harry took Louis to the front door after he made small talk with Anne and Robin for a couple of minutes in the kitchen (“Are you sure you don’t want to stay over for dinner, my lad?” “Thank you, Mr. Twist, but my mum is waiting for me.” “Tell her to come over for tea sometime this week, will you, love?” “I will, miss Anne, thank you for lunch.” “Try not to run over our cat on your way out, please, dear.” “I won’t, miss Anne, don’t worry.”). It was raining, thick raindrops hitting Harry’s face the second he opened the door, and Louis groaned at the pitch-black sky, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“I hate this country’s weather!” He informed. “See you tomorrow, H.”

Harry watched Louis ran across the driveway and get into the car. Thunder rumbled in the distance, following the sudden lightning. Harry watched Louis drive backwards and then away, and stood still at the doorstep for what felt like hours.

His stomach was having a pretty inconvenient butterfly party.

 

* * *

 

_If another one passes by, I’ll do it._

Harry’s thought felt like a fleecy whisper, carried away by the cold wind. He shivered under his heavy red plaid blanket and kept his eyes cast at the light night sky, the whiteness of it a prediction of a big storm to come. Even then he could still see airplanes fly by from time to time, he could see their faint little lights up high through the fog.

He’d been watching That 70’s Show on his old laptop when Louis texted him, _m here_. It’d been a quarter past eleven; the house very, very still, all the lights out, Mum and his stepdad long ago gone to bed. It was a school night, three days to Halloween, and Harry was supposed to be sleeping, but it felt oddly rebellious to stay up past bedtime to watch dumb TV shows. He knew his sister had been awake too, the low sound of her laughter in the bedroom next to Harry’s telling him that she’d been probably still texting her friends.

Louis was lying down in the backyard in his black winter coat, and Harry’s mobile displayed 12:00am on the screen. The dead lawn was a bit wet; he didn’t know how Louis was lying so calmly on the ground, no complaints about the chilly night. He could see his own breath in front of his face. He tried not to think about Louis’ hand on his, the older boy’s fingers mindlessly caressing his skin, which.

His skin felt like it was on fire beneath his touch, no longer numbed by the nipping air. He wondered if Louis could feel it. His heart was beating extremely fast and loud inside his chest, achingly. He wondered if Louis could hear it.

“I can’t wait to leave this town,” Louis said, hushed, almost like breathing out a sigh. Harry looked at his face. He was staring at the sky. “I couldn’t wait to leave Doncaster either. It’s strange. Do you think about getting out?”

They’d had that conversation before. Harry hummed.

“It’s like I’m never satisfied anywhere I go. I always think about living in a big city. Living anonymously. Your face just another face. No one knows about your past and you can be whoever you want to be, no fears, no regrets,” Louis continued. He chuckled, “The future scares me, H.”

“The future scares me too, Lou,” Harry frowned. “That doesn’t mean we should try to run away from it.”

“Who’s running away?” he asked, and there was something self-depreciative in his voice. He sat up and looked at Harry, tilting his head, his eyes attentive. “Would you like to leave with me?”

“What, right now?”

“Sure, why not? We can steal my mum’s car, it’s shit anyway.” His hand found his way to Harry’s scalp, his fingers scratched it lightly, tangled themselves in his curls. “We can leave the country, go to Wales. I don’t think anyone moves to Wales voluntarily, though. We might need to buy plane tickets. How do you feel about the Caribbean? I hear it’s sunny all the time.”

_Another plane and I’ll do it._

“Okay,” Harry replied quietly, lowering his eyes daringly to Louis’ lips. He felt so exposed. Under the ominous night sky, sitting in his mum’s well-cared for backyard, as though the whole town could see him like that, raw and bare and longing for something to happen. His neighbours were asleep, all the houses on the block wrapped by darkness. They were alone, the two of them, the last two people fighting sleep on that corner of the world.

 _Another plane, just another one, and I’ll do it, I’ll kiss him_.

“Okay,” he said again, rough. His voice cracked.

His heart was beating so loud. He was sure Louis could hear it, that everyone in town could hear it, blood violently rushing in his ears.

Harry was always a little afraid of kissing someone for the first time, because it could painfully awkward. He had kissed only two people in his sixteen-almost-seventeen years of existence, two girls from school who seemed too eager for it to end. Or maybe he was the eager one, inexperienced and awkward and completely clueless. With Louis, he was always afraid he’d be all teeth, hungry as he was, aching as he was. He was afraid Louis would make fun of him, or tell him he didn’t want to kiss him. Harry knew Louis had kissed boys before. He’d never hidden it. Maybe he wouldn’t want to kiss Harry and all his awkwardness and desperation.

“Harry?” Louis called. “Haz.” And then he was kissing him.

He was kissing him very tenderly, all soft lips against Harry’s, slow lips, like he was offering him the decision to stop it, like he was asking him for a kind of permission he wasn’t sure he’d get. Harry didn’t remember how to breathe nor how to really move his lips. His head was spinning. It took him various seconds to realise what was happening. He pushed his body forward, crashing into Louis.

It was messy and sloppy and all teeth and tongues, Harry opening his mouth under the pressure of Louis’ own without hesitating. He held the impression that his heart was going to crawl out of his own mouth so Louis could swallow it. He didn’t want it to stop. Ever. His hands were on Louis neck, pulling him closer, and Louis’ arms were around his waist, holding him in place. Head spinning.

They broke apart, panting. Up close, in that faint back porch light barely reaching them, Louis’ face looked feverish and his eyes, very bright. Harry touched Louis’ cheek carefully. Slowly, very slowly, his skin started getting numb again, his teeth chattering.

“It’s cold,” he whispered dumbly.

“It is,” replied Louis matter-of-factly.

“We should... We should go to my bedroom.”

“Should we?”

“I mean, we can stay in the living room if you don’t want to go to my room now that we’ve kissed, I just. I mean, we just. It’s cold and–,”

“Harry, I’m kidding,” Louis interrupted his rambling and pressed a quick kiss to his chin. “Yes, please, let’s go inside. It’s fucking freezing out here. We’ve stayed long enough.”

Harry turned off the porch light when they closed the kitchen backdoor, safe from the tepid temperature. He wished he could see Louis expression, figure out what he was thinking, but he couldn’t see him in the sheer darkness of his home, so he used his phone to guide their way to the living room, and then up the stairs. He didn’t hold Louis hand out of pure shyness, which was a whole new concept to him. Harry wasn’t what one would call shy.

He locked his bedroom door. It occurred to him that locking his door would seem extremely arrogant, as though he was expecting even more to happen. Louis could be tired, or he could’ve hated Harry’s kiss. He could’ve been thinking about a way out of that situation while Harry presumptuously locked his door.

“Do you want me to turn on the lamp?” Louis asked quietly. He was nothing but a shape in the dark, his back turned to the street lights creeping in through the window. Harry heard him take off his coat.

“No, it’s–it’s fine. Or do you want me to–?”

“It’s okay, we can leave it like that.”

They snuggled under the red blanket, and Harry felt Louis’ body tense up to the proximity of hiss. They didn’t say a word for a long time, breathing in unison; the only sound was their breathing and the low buzz of the heater on the other side of the room. Harry couldn’t remember if he’d ever learned about precocious heart attacks during adolescence in Biology class.

“Can I kiss you again?” he pleaded when it was clear that Louis was too busy having an internal monologue. “Please?”

“Thank God, I wasn’t sure you’d ask.” Louis sighed. It started out as a chaste peck, then a more insistent press of lips. Harry’s upper body was suddenly on top of Louis’ and he was holding his weight on both arms. Louis fingers were playing with the knots of Harry’s hair, and he made a small noise when Harry’s tongue slid into his, a bit messy and earnest. Louis was pliant under Harry, as if holding back, letting Harry settle with himself exactly what he wanted and to take only what he wanted to take.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for a very long time,” Harry giggled between kisses, gasping.

“You’ve no idea how long, Lou.”

“Probably not as long as I’ve wanted it,” he hummed. “I didn’t want to take advantage, though. You’re so young and you hadn’t kissed any boys and you’re from this really tiny town and I didn’t know. I didn’t know what you’d think.”

“You’re my best friend.” Harry frowned. “I don’t think you’d ever take advantage from me.”

They were facing each other, laying on their sides. Louis patted Harry’s eyebrows with the tip of his fingers, almost not really touching.

“You know that makes me sleepy,” Harry complained, closing his eyes. “Don’t wanna sleep. Wanna kiss you.”

Louis didn’t answer, instead choosing to give Harry another peck.

“Never stop kissing me please,” Harry demanded. He pouted his lower lip.

“I promise I’ll think about it.” Louis smiled.

Harry kissed him tenderly and he kissed him hungrily and Louis kissed him back until they were both breathless, tangled limbs under the blanket and mouths craving for more. Harry touched his swollen lips with the back of his own hand, in awe. Louis tugged at one of his curls.

“Sleepy?”

“Maybe. But I don’t want to fall asleep yet. I’m too happy.”

“I’ll have to go now,” Louis murmured, nuzzling behind Harry’s ear. Harry squirmed. “Or I’ll have to wake up at an ungodly hour so your mum won’t catch me sneaking out.”

“No, please, don’t go,” Harry begged, his words muffled in Louis’ hair. “She won’t be mad. I know it’s a school night, but she won’t.”

“H, it’s for the best.” Louis chuckled at the whine in response. “Fine, fine. Let me just grab my phone so I can turn on the alarm.”

It was past three in the morning when Harry cuddled up to Louis, bleary-eyed but pleased, his sore muscles imploring some rest. Louis' fingers were resting on Harry’s nape, clutching lazily at the hair on the back of his head.

“Lou?” Harry called, drowsy; he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

“Yeah?” Yawn.

“Does this mean horror movies marathon on Halloween will be a date night?”

“Hummm... Maybe,” Louis teased. “We can talk about it later.”

“You’re right.” Harry smiled. He rested his head on Louis’ chest, listening to the slow drumming of his heart. “We most definitely can.”

 

* * *

 

Early November was a hazy of hectic days and Harry wasn’t sure where he and Louis stood. They had their distinct school projects and ended up spending most of their time with their own friends; Harry, not so overloaded with homework and bored with his English essay on _1984_ ; Louis, caught up in discussions about graduation and which Universities had the best Drama program to apply to. Harry’s own sister was constantly freaking out about applications in January, and had dyed her hair black in a moment of total panic three days into the month.

Still, he thought, it was okay, they were okay. Movie night on Halloween had been great, an obvious excuse to kiss in the dark while _The Exorcist_ served as the worst background music playing through Louis’ laptop speakers. Harry wasn’t an avid fan of horror movies, but kissing Louis was all it took for him to forget everything else around him, so he didn’t had any problems sleeping later that night because of a terrible movie and good makeup and convincing special effects.

Harry did his chores and went to Sunday mass with Mum (voluntarily) and cleaned his bedroom (not voluntarily) and tried to read some of the books on his TBR list. His mind often wandered back to Louis, to his scarlet lips and his mischievous eyes, and Harry was left feeling like he was a ticking bomb about to explode at any minute. Hormones were annoyingly inconvenient, and it was getting to the point that it didn’t matter the time of the day and where he was at.

Irrational as it was, he couldn’t help feeling a little bit jealous whenever Louis’ attention wasn’t on him when they were at school. Pretty girls and handsome boys from Louis’ year laughed at his jokes and made him laugh at their jokes. Pretty girls touched his arm and invited him over on weekends, when their parents wouldn’t be home. Harry thought about the pimples on his face and how his voice would still crack when he least expected it and how clumsier and more awkward he was getting, not a kid anymore but not quite an adult yet. Then Louis would smile at him from across the hall and Harry would let it go, that hot feeling of jealousy and insecurity burning deep in his stomach. They were okay.

Gemma tried giving him driving lessons whenever Louis had to babysit his sisters, and those lessons tended to end in fights. If Harry forgot to lower the handbrake, she screamed at him. If Harry forgot to use the turn signal, she flicked his ear. _“Driving is not a creation of God.” “My hand is a creation of God and it’s going to hit you in the throat if you don’t stop being such a crybaby.”_ Her teaching methods were very different from Louis’.

The first week of the month rolled into the second, and the second into the third, and it was a Wednesday night when Louis texted Harry suggesting they should visit Doncaster the upcoming Saturday. Harry agreed, and they bought their train tickets together the next day after class.

It was drizzling when they left Doncaster Railway Station on Saturday morning, seeing that the weather was perpetually unforgiving in the land of the Queen, and Harry shrunk himself under his ugly yellow raincoat. Louis wore an equally hideous turquoise coat, but he didn’t seem bothered by the dreadful weather nor by the foul garment, his face very serious in that kind of introspection he fell into whenever he felt sad. Harry watched cars carefully pass by through the mist, people hurrying down the street protected by umbrellas, and tried to keep his own body from freezing. His pocket was heavy with change for emergency, his keys and his phone.

“You okay, H?” Louis asked after a while standing still. There was a hint of a smile on his chapped lips, pellucid eyes staring at him attentively.

“Yeah,” he frowned. “’M fine. Are you sure you’re okay though?”

“No worries. Just too many memories. Let’s go, I don’t want you turning into a popsicle.”

He followed Louis through a narrow path and then into a series of strange streets, feeling a bit dizzy for not knowing the way to their destination. It was like blindly walking into a room he wasn’t sure he could find a way out after. They jumped on a crowded bus when the rain became thicker, and Louis’ hand came to rest on Harry’s lower back. That side of town where they were going, Louis had told him earlier, was not very friendly, so he should be careful not to wander off. Harry couldn’t see anything through the foggy windows. He tried to picture Louis’ old life in that dirty town, his way to school every morning, the park he took his sisters to on sunny days, the places he’d hang out with friends. He was having trouble imagining Louis anywhere else but in Holmes Chapel, with anyone other than himself.

Flushing, he shook his head and focused on the warm feeling of Louis’ fingers on the back of his head, playing with his damp curls.

“Letting it grow, are ya?” he hummed and then smiled, his face going very soft. “Come on, that’s our stop.”

They walked fast for what seemed like twenty minutes before coming to a sudden stop, the rain giving them a merciful break. Harry looked up to see a row of terrace houses, all faded blue. Louis was staring at the one with the black door.

“Do you have the keys? Aren’t there...people living here now?” Harry whispered. His nose was extremely cold, which could make him extremely cranky.

“Just give me a minute, yeah?” Louis dismissed him not unkindly, studying the pipe near the door. He jumped.

“Louis, what the fuck! That’s not safe, what the fuck. Please come down! I don’t want you to fall and break your skull. I really don’t want to tell your mum and your sisters that you’re not coming back home,” Harry besought, eyes wide. “What the fuck, that pipe is _wet_ , what the...”

“Shut up, Harry,” he replied calmly, going up until reaching the window on the first floor. It gave up easily when Louis tried to open it. “Hang on a sec.”

Harry’s heart was pounding, his breathing noisy, and he hid his trembling hands on his pockets for Louis was out of his reach and he couldn’t hit him. He looked left and right to see if someone had caught them, but the street was eerily empty. He gnawed on his lip, starting a bit when Louis opened the front door.

“Welcome to the Tomlinson’s.”

“I hate you.”

“Relax, it wasn’t the first time I had to do that. Also, that window doesn’t close properly, so you can imagine how nice it is to shower when it’s cold,” Louis explained in a bored manner, though there was a small line of worry in his brow. He closed the door behind them. “Were you really scared?”

“Of course I was, you wanker,” Harry groaned, massaging his own forehead. “You could’ve hurt yourself.”

“I’m okay though.” He smiled that same tender smile he’d always offered only to Harry, crinkled eyes and white teeth. “Come on, I’ll show you the place.”

The house was empty of people and of furniture. They took off their coats to let them dry on the floor, and Harry immediately regretted that decision, the rooms cold without the heater on in late November. Louis tugged at his hand gently, carrying him upstairs, and the stairs creaked under their feet. Harry felt a inconsolable kind of sorrow at the emptiness of the place, like something that used to be dear and had long ago been forgotten and left behind. He could notice the same sadness slowly creeping into Louis by the way he carried himself across the corridor on the first floor. His shoulders were visibly slouched.

“This one used to be my bedroom,” he said quietly when they reached the last door.

It was obvious that someone else had lived there, the baby-pink walls covered in colourful My Little Pony stickers. Harry looked at Louis, trying not to move too much, trying not to disturb the air around them, all that stillness and layers of dust.

“I don’t know what happened to the family,” Louis whispered before Harry had the chance to ask. He was frowning. “I heard mum talking on the phone about the house, is all. They're selling it. I wanted to see it for the last time.”

Rain started tapping at the window and at the roof as if on cue, a distant soothing noise, pale sunlight coming in through the glass almost poorly. Louis blinked a few times, undisturbed. He chuckled lowly.

“Mum used to measure our height on the door frame.” He sighed. “The girls were growing so fast, she was always saying.”

Harry smiled.

“It’s a bit sad that the twins won’t grow up in this house,” Louis’ voice sounded very hoarse. “They weren’t even born in Doncaster, I know, I know. They’re Cheshire girls. Still.”

Louis sat on the floor in the middle of the room, dragging Harry to sit by his side. His hand didn’t leave Harry’s, and their fingers eventually intertwined.

“I remember when it was just us, mum and I. We lived in a really small house and we used to share the bedroom. I was just a kid, so I guess it was okay. She used to read _The Velveteen Rabbit_ to me every night. It was my favourite book.”

They stayed silent for a while. Louis looked very vulnerable and very young, his eyes clouded with emotion and the corners of his mouth pulled down. Harry got closer to him, resting his head on Louis’ shoulder. He, too, felt extremely young.

“God, I wish I had a sharpie,” Louis said out of nowhere. “It’d feel nice to vandalise the walls before going home.”

“Would it really,” Harry deadpanned. “You _are_ a delinquent, aren’t you.”

“Fuck off.” Louis laughed, tackling Harry to the floor. He looked down at the boy lying underneath him, their faces inches apart.

“Are you going to kiss me?” Harry whispered almost shyly, breath caught in his throat in anticipation. “Kiss me, Lou. I wish I could never stop kissing you.” _I’ve missed you this last week_.

“Then when would you have the time to do everything else, silly?”

“I don’t care.” Stubborn.

Louis let out a little sound of amusement, a huff of breath right on Harry’s flushed face. His eyes always looked bluer when he wore that knitted grey sweater.

“Want me to keep you warm?” He chuckled.

“Yes.”

Louis kissed him until Harry felt lightheaded and weightless, and then he smiled smugly at his glassy eyes, at the dazed look on his face.

“You’re so easy.”

“Shut up.” Harry pouted. He squirmed when Louis’ cold hands touched his ribs under his moss green sweater, squawking. “Fuck, get away from me, you menace!”

“I thought you wanted me to keep you warm?” Louis frowned, faux confusion distorting his face.

“Getttt awayyyyy frommmmeeeee.”

“Alright, alright, calm down. We should probably go if you want to taste the best fish and chips in the country before getting back.” Louis got to his feet, helping Harry to do the same, and fixed his own hair.

“Can’t we stay for a bit?” Harry swayed from one side to the other. “I’ve never slow danced in my life. Dance with me, Louis!”

“You’re weird.” Louis tittered. He leaned in for a kiss and stroked Harry’s curls. “Let’s go, weirdo.”

They stopped at the Takeaway, a small family business that reeked of grease and was squeezed between a Chinese takeaway and a Falafel & Kebab parlour, and Louis smiled brightly at the woman behind the counter. He ordered two fish and chips boxes, chatting with her about the last match against Rochdale. Harry bought two bottles of Coca-Cola, and he tried very hard to keep up with conversation. It was hard when Louis went full-on Donny lad.

Louis shielded their food while they ran back to the train station. They sat on a bench outside of the building, protected from the drizzle, and ate happily while discussing the importance of vinegar, which Harry thought was horrid, but Louis’ chips were drowning in it.

“I wish we had time to see the stadium,” Louis said once they had thrown their empty boxes in the nearest litter. “Grandpa used to take me there when I was little. He’s a diehard fan. Hates Sheffield United for a reason.”

“You do get beat by them very often.”

“Shush.” Louis chuckled. “That’s not the point.”

Harry jumped in a puddle of rain on the sidewalk before following Louis inside the station, his hair soaking wet. His red plastic boots were starting to hurt his feet. They waited on the design platform among few other people, most of them hiding from the rain, playing on their phones or listening to music or reading a book. The tiny coffeeshop was crowded. Harry stepped on a torn newspaper, kicking it mindlessly.

“Lou,” he bit his lip. “Can I talk to you about something?”

“Of course, H, you can talk to me about anything you want.” Louis tilted his head, giving him a curious look.

“I’ve been thinking—”

“ _Shocking_ —”

“I think—I think I want to come out.”

Louis stood completely still. He was holding his breath, Harry could see, and his mouth was closed in a thin line. A train from York would arrive in two minutes, the board informed. No delays.

“Are you sure?” Louis asked carefully. “You know that’s a huge thing.”

“I don’t—I know it—God, Louis, can you look at me when we’re having a conversation this important, please?” Harry said, frustrated.

“Sorry.” He sighed. “Sorry, I’m being a dick.”

“You are.”

“I’m sorry, alright?”

“I wouldn’t come out to everyone, I think,” Harry whispered, stepping aside to let a group of girls pass. “I think I want to tell my mum. Maybe.”

“You don’t have to do it if you’re not sure.” Louis eyed him sideways, hands fidgeting. “It took me all my courage to tell my mum and I still thought I was going to die afterwards.”

Harry nodded and stared at his boots.

“Are you ashamed people will find out you’re with me?”

“Of course not, God, Harry,” Louis answered, an angry edge to his voice. He held Harry’s shoulders with both hands, a firm and grounding hold, and forced him to stare back at him. “That’s not it. You know me better than that. I just don’t want you to do it before you feel that you’re ready. I’m the first boy you’ve been with, what’s if it’s just a phase to you?”

“It’s not a _phase_ .” It was Harry’s turn to sound angry. “I know what I want. Who I want. I want _you_.”

“Yeah, you say that now, but what if—what if when I move away you realise that you want something else and—shit, Harry, I’ll probably be in _London_ , what if you come out and then decide that you were mistaken?”

“What do you mean, _mistaken_?” Harry half-shouted bitterly. Louis cringed. “What, are you saying that when you move to London we’re done? You’ll just go out with other people and forget about me?”

“I’d never forget you,” Louis murmured. “Ever.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I mean it, Hazz,” he said, frowning. “Don’t do anything you might regret later. You’ve got time to figure it all out.”

Their train arrived on the platform right on time, doors opening with a quiet _whoosh_ , and they watched passengers step out furtively, making their way to the exit.

“Take me home?” Harry let out a deep sighed, nudging Louis’ soggy sneakers with the tip of his left boot.

“Yeah,” Louis hummed. “Let’s go home.”

Harry sat by the window, silently. When no one claimed the seats in front of them, he let his head fall on Louis’ shoulder.

“We don’t have to talk about it now,” he whispered.

“Okay,” Louis whispered back. “But tell me something.”

“Yeah?”

“Does that mean we’re proper boyfriends and shit?”

“Yeah,” Harry flushed, nuzzling into Louis’ neck to hide his grin. “We are.”

“Okay,” Louis said, laughing lowly, and that was it.

Harry closed his eyes, a warm feeling of calm spreading in his chest. Everything was going to be okay, he mused.

Louis was taking him home.

 

* * *

 

Hanging out at the Tomlinson’s meant finding toys and pieces of clothes and colouring books and baby bottles everywhere, so Harry braced himself for battlefield before ringing their bell on the second day into Christmas Holidays. He was greeted by Fizzy, still in her pyjamas and holding three stuffed bears in her arms.

“Harry!” she shouted, dropping all her belongings and wrapping herself around Harry’s legs. “Louis didn’t tell us you were coming!”

“It’s a surprise!” He grinned. “Should you be opening the door alone, miss?”

“Fizzy, how many times have I told you to wait for me to open the door?” Louis appeared behind his small sister, sounding exasperated. He was in dark grey sweatpants and a huge Doncaster Rovers shirt.  He eyed her fondly. “Morning, H. Missing me already?”

He gave him space to come inside, and Harry shrugged off his heavy coat and took off his winter boots. Snowflakes were melting in his hair and eyelashes. The first snow had fallen in the middle of the night, covering the town in a layer of blinding whiteness. A snow flurry had started coming down from the sky when Harry was halfway to Louis' house.

“I hope I’m not intruding?” Harry bit his lip, his gaze following Fizzy. She hopped across the living room and sat down in front of the TV with her three stuffed bears. “I should’ve called.”

“Who is it, darling?” Louis’ mum’s voice came from the kitchen.

“Just Harry, mum.”

“Hiya Harry.” Lottie said happily without taking her eyes from the telly, lying belly-down next to Fizzy. Her feet swayed in the air. “Do you want to watch _Peter Pan_ with us?”

“Maybe later, Lotts,” Louis replied for him, then blinked at Harry. “Have you had breakfast? Mum just made tea.”

Johanna was sitting at the table holding a big purple mug in front of her face, steam coming up from it slowly, and she offered Harry an affable smile when she saw him. She had dark circles under her big blue eyes.

“Morning, love.” She nodded. “The twins only fell asleep now, the poor things. Rough night. Daisy wouldn't stop crying. Cuppa?”

“Sure, thanks, Mrs. Tomlinson.” Harry returned the smile.

“How’s Anne?”

“She’s fine, she asked me to tell you to call her soon.”

Louis handed Harry a black and white mug a few minutes later, filled to the brim with plain tea exactly the way he liked. They sat in silence for a while. Louis was watching the snow through the narrow window above the sink from where he was sitting beside Harry, and Harry noticed that his shoulders looked tense.

“I’m going to take a nap before the babies wake up again,” Louis’ mum informed, sounding very tired. “Can you watch the girls, please, dear?”

“Sure, mum.” Louis sighed. His shoulders dropped down when she left the room and he banged his head on the table twice. “Fucking Mark.”

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked softly, brushing Louis’ hair with his fingers.

“Nothing, it’s fine.” He sighed again. “Come on, you’re on babysit duty with me today.”

Harry took his mug to the sofa with him so it’d warm up his hands. He watched Louis lie down between his sisters on the floor and kiss both of them on the top of their heads, and they snuggled up to him to see the rest of the movie under a Buzz Lightyear blanket, reciting the lines they probably knew by heart. Harry’s heart fluttered. It was clear how much Louis loved his siblings, how he’d do anything for them and how they looked up to him. Harry himself had a soft spot for the girls: they were like family to him, including Daisy and Phoebe, who were not even one year old yet.

He didn't focus on the movie, instead keeping his eyes on Louis. They'd done a lot of kissing in the past few weeks. They'd kissed on the backseat of Johanna's car and once on the bed of Robin's truck and in every room of Harry's house when everyone had gone to bed and behind Shay's costcutter after Louis had gone in to buy bread and milk and even in the movie theater during a very late, very empty session of _The King's Speech_. Harry felt kind of guilty about that last one. Mum had asked him if the movie was worth it and if she should take Robin to watch it, and all Harry could to was stare blankly at her while holding onto the lingering ghost feeling of Louis' lips against his.

After _Peter Pan_  Louis made them all eat peanut butter and jam sandwiches and watch old Scooby Doo cartoons, and after that Lottie and Fizzy were more than happy to dedicate their attention to _The Little Mermaid_ , completely ignoring the boys and leaving them to their own devices. Louis rested his head on Harry’s lap, closing his eyes.

“Sorry you’re stuck watching them with me,” he whispered. He hummed when Harry brushed his fringe.

“I don’t mind,” Harry said just as lowly. “Is your mum okay?”

“Yeah. No, not really. Mark’s being a twat, is all.”

“What’s happened?”

“He hasn’t realised that parenting is a full-time job,” Louis explained, irritated. “Whatever.”

Fizzy and Lottie were singing out of tune, feet swaying in unison, not minding any attention to the conversation. Harry looked at them, then looked back at Louis, who still had his eyes closed.

“I’m sorry.” He offered helplessly.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for, it’s not your fault.” Louis chuckled. “You good? Had anything in mind when you came over?”

“Just wanted to be with you”, he murmured, feeling his cheeks burn with embarrassment.

“Sap,” Louis teased, opening one eye and staring brightly at Harry. He rubbed his cheek on Harry’s thigh and pressed a kiss to his sweater, right where Harry’s hipbone stood.

“Hum,” Harry said eloquently, shifting in his sit.

“I’m glad you came.” Another press of lips to the fabric of his sweater. “I bet the girls are glad too.”

“Hum. I. Can you excuse me for a sex. I mean, _sec_ ,” Harry stuttered and jumped from the couch, and he was able to hear Louis’ indignant  _ouch!_ on his run to the bathroom.

He closed the door carefully behind him, his ragged breath too loud to his liking. He opened the tap and threw a handful of water on his flushed face, tried to breathe evenly. He felt a familiar tug on his lower belly and groaned, avoiding to look down at his trousers.

“Harry? Are you okay?” Louis sounded puzzled, knocking on the door lightly.

“I’m fine!” he answered too fast to sound natural. His voice was hoarse enough for him to know that Louis would notice that something wasn't right. Which wasn’t good.

“Are you sure?” he asked suspiciously. “Let me in.”

Harry let out a shaky breath. He unlocked the door, watching Louis get in the bathroom and close the door just as carefully as Harry had.

“I’m sorry.”

“What fo... Is that a boner?”

“Shut up,” Harry hissed. “Yes, it is. Don’t think I feel comfortable having a boner _when we’re babysitting your sisters_. I feel awful. I want to die.”

“Please breathe.”

“I’m a _teenager_ and I’m _horny_ and we haven’t even talked about doing anything, I know, I’m sorry, I’m trying to make it go away, but.”

“But?” Louis raised his eyebrows, looking extremely entertained with the whole situation.

“I can’t control myself when I’m around you.” Harry flushed harder. “Also I might’ve looked up gay porn online last night and I want to try everything with you.”

“That’s really bad timing.” Louis frowned. “Shit, I don’t mean it like that. I want to do stuff with you too, I really do. But we can’t right now.”

“I fucking know _that_ , Louis!”

“Okay, shit. Please wait for me in my room. I’ll... I’ll sort something out.”

Harry sank his face into Louis’ pillow once he moved himself from the bathroom to the bedroom and closed the door. He tried thinking about all the nasty things he could come up with, but Louis’ sheets and pillow smelled like him and Harry could feel the burning desperation to just _move his body_ against the mattress, his brain filled with images of Louis pinning him down on his bed to kiss him dirtily. He swore. He wasn’t going to get off in Louis’ bed. He wasn’t. Even though it was getting really hard to breathe and his cock was starting to hurt, he wasn’t going to get off in Louis’ bed.

“Mum’s awake, she’s with the girls.” He heard Louis say what felt like hours later. “I’m sorry I took so long.”

Harry nodded and stared at him. Louis was standing in front of the bed, eyes a little dazed. He looked a little bit unsure of what to do next.

“It won’t go away,” Harry moaned. He sounded very much in pain. “I’m sorry, I really tried, I’m–.”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Louis cooed, snuggling into bed close to him. “These things happen. I remember being sixteen. It was hell. It doesn’t get that much better at eighteen, I’m sorry to say.”

“Kiss me, please, Lou, kiss me–,” he begged, so Louis stopped talking and did as he was asked.

He kissed Harry open-mouthed and slow and teasingly, sucking on his tongue and biting his lower lip, and it didn’t take long for Harry’s hips to start jerking up to meet Louis’, uncoordinated and erratic. He gasped against Louis’ mouth. He didn’t have time to warn Louis, either, too lost in the feeling of it.

“You’re okay, baby, I got you,” Louis was whispering in his ear when he finally came back to himself. He realised his pants were undone. “I got you, love.”

“Well that was embarrassing.” He sighed shakily. “And my underwear is gross.”

“You can borrow one of my sweatpants.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ve full comprehension now of what you had in mind when you decided to come over,” Louis said matter-of-factly, helping Harry out of his trousers and underwear and throwing them across the room.

“I swear I didn’t–”

“I’m kidding, H.” He laughed. “I was serious, though. I do want to do this with you. I just want to make sure you want the same thing.”

“Because what sixteen-year-old has ever rejected sex,” Harry scoffed bitterly.

“You know what I mean, Harry.” Louis frowned and tilted his head to one side.

“Yeah, I do,” he replied in a low voice.

“We can go slow, yeah?” Louis smiled, gripping Harry’s thigh. His hand found his way up his hipbone, then to his ribs, then to his pecks. He thumbed Harry’s right nipple under his sweater very softly, and Harry arched his back, a short gasp escaping his lips. “We’ve got time.”

Harry pushed himself up so he could reach his lips and kissed him sweetly. He moved to a sitting position, lifting his arms so Louis could take of his sweater. Then he did the same to him, helping him out of his stripped Donny Rovers shirt and his sweatpants. Louis straddled Harry’s lap and lazily moved forward, his own cock hard between them, brushing Harry’s stomach. Harry shivered when Louis moaned, head spinning.

“Slow, yeah?” Louis whispered, but there was a hint of mischief in his voice. “We’ve got time, baby.”

“Yeah.” Harry nodded, wrapping his arms around Louis.

They took their time figuring out each other’s bodies, carefully learning every curve and pressing bruising kisses to every inch of skin they could reach. Harry’s hands ached to touch Louis everywhere. They didn’t go past messy handjobs, but Harry felt like that thrilling feeling creeping into his weary bones was probably the same feeling of standing on the edge of the highest building, his heart in his throat and his feet itchy to jump. There was something very vulnerable in letting himself be seen like that, not only stark naked, but with his soul bare. He was handing to Louis everything he had, everything he was, as though ripping his own heart out of his chest and putting it on a silver tray and saying, _here, now you see me, this is the only thing and everything I have to give you_. He left lovebites all over Louis’ skin, hoping he could read all Harry was leaving unsaid (strategic places where clothes could hid the marks, for his eyes only).

Outside, day faded into early night, and snow fell down fast from the dull white sky.

 

* * *

 

Harry woke up on the 24th to the sweet smell of gingerbread and peppermint tea. He had breakfast with Mum and Gemma and Robin, Dusty The Cat curled up into a ball under the table, and they sang along to old Christmas tunes on the radio while finishing all the preparations for the Christmas Eve family dinner. He and Gemma wore matching blue reindeer onesies slightly too small by now and danced together every time _Santa Baby_ played on the radio (Harry counted at least six), and they helped Mum arrange all the gifts under the extravagant Christmas tree in the living room, where Dusty The Cat had already chewed on one of the ornaments.

He sent a birthday text to Louis and invited his whole family over for dinner, because they too were family, and then showered and changed into his horrid red Christmas sweater his Nana had given him two years ago to clash with his best dark jeans. Mum played her Ella Fitzgerald Christmas Collection and let Harry help with the festive meals and they drank spiced tea by the window, watching snow completely cover the backyard. Gemma sang _Santa Baby_ twice in the car on their way to midnight mass. Harry couldn’t say he minded, really.

The Tomlinson weren’t at mass, either because they didn’t care for it or because Jay didn’t want to take the twins to church in case they started crying. Louis had replied to Harry’s text to let him know his grandparents would stay home with the girls so Louis and his mum could attend the Styles-Twist dinner party. His grandparents (Louis' mum’s parents) had come all the way from Doncaster to celebrate with them and were happy to babysit for Jay after their early dinner and gifts exchange. Harry didn’t ask about Mark.

Mass was long and boring, but Harry had always loved what it came after it. His house would be full of aunts and uncles and cousins and Robin’s own kids, and his Nana would be by the fireplace sipping the scotch she’d sneak from Robin’s liquor cabinet from a inconspicuous teacup. Christmas had always been his favourite season, and for the last three years he’d had Louis to celebrate it with him as his best friend, and now he had Louis to celebrate it with him as his best friend and (secret) boyfriend.

Dinner was very loud, laughter ringing in Harry’s ears and warming up his heart. All the grown ups and older cousins were tipsy and red-faced, and the little ones who were still awake settled in front of the telly to watch a late rerun of _How the Grinch Stole Christmas_. Harry was about to sit with them when the door bell ringed. His heart jumped in his chest in anticipation and he ran to welcome Louis and his mum, smiling wide.

Jay hugged him tightly and wished him a happy Christmas, and then she was off to the adults party. Louis stared at him, bright blue eyes sparkling with mirth and lips stretched in the loveliest grin, wearing a fancy navy blue sweater and black jeans.

“Happy Christmas, Harry,” he said softly. He showed him a little green envelope he’d hidden behind his back. “For you. You can open it later.”

Harry wanted to kiss him on the mouth. He nodded instead.

“I’ve a present for you too”, he said. “It’s in my bedroom.”

“You can give it to me later,” Louis replied, his ambiguous words hitting Harry like a racing bus.

“Okay.” He let out a deep breath.

Louis went to greet Harry’s mum and stepdad, polite as ever, and ended up caught up in a heated discussion with Gemma and one of their older cousins. When he found his way back to Harry, he had two glasses filled with champagne, and gave Harry a mischievous glance.

“It’s my birthday.” He shrugged. “Was.”

They wrapped themselves in their winter coats and headed out the back door. The night was cold and dark and heavy with the sharp smell of fresh snow, and the garden was illuminated by the Christmas lights Robin had hang on the gutters, painting the snow red and green. They toasted silently.

“Happy not-your-birthday-anymore, Lou,” Harry whispered, giggling.

“Why thank you, dear Harold.”

Harry leaned forward and his heartbeats went mad with the idea of getting caught by someone, but the way Louis was smiling at him made him go ahead and press a chaste kiss to his lips.

“What was that for?” Louis asked, smile turning into a delighted laugh.

“Just felt like kissing you.”

Harry guided Louis back inside, through the crowd of drunk family members and up the stairs to his bedroom. He turned his cat-shaped lamp on and placed Louis gift over the nightstand, looking for his own gifts under his bed. A medium sized box wrapped in blue paper stared back at him, a silver bow neatly at the left side of it.

“This is for you,” he told Louis with a sheepish grin. “It’s stupid.”

“Harry, you didn’t have to.” Louis eyes were huge and dark in the dim yellow light. He hugged Harry so close to him theirs hearts seemed to start beating in unison. “Thank you. I’m sure I’ll love them.”

Harry nuzzled into his neck, kissing the soft skin behind his ear.

“Wanna open them together?” Louis sighed.

“We can do that tomorrow.”

“And what do you suggest we do now?”

“Can I give you a blowjob?” Harry bit his lips, looking down at his shoes. Louis went very still. “I think I’ll do good. I really want to suck you off, Lou. Can I?”

“Are you sure?” Louis choke on his own words, breathless. “You really don’t have to.”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to.” Harry frowned.

“Your family is just downstairs.”

“We’ll just have to be really quiet.” Harry smiled maliciously.

“I... I’d love to.” He mirrored Harry’s previous frown. “Will you tell me if you want to stop?”

“Yes,” he promised. “Will you tell me if you want me to stop?”

“Yes.”

Harry pressed Louis against his closed bedroom door to kiss him, sloppy and filthy, his hips gently moving against Louis’. He was getting better at that, he reckoned. Louis made a small sound in the back of his throat, gasping when Harry unzipped his pants and pushed them down along with his underwear.

“Consider _this_ my birthday present,” Harry said, licking his lips, only feeling a little bit nervous. His knees hit the floor with a quiet thud.

Harry took him in his mouth and Louis’ head banged on the door, and he cursed under his breath. Up the stairs came the sound of laughter, and then someone popped open a bottle of champagne, and Frank Sinatra was singing in the midst of the party: _Have yourself a merry little Christmas, let your heart be light..._

On Christmas morning Harry opened Louis’ gift alone in his room. Inside the envelope was a picture of them sitting on the sofa in the Tomlinson’s living room, holding the new-born twins very carefully, and behind them Lottie and Fizzy were making silly faces at the camera. Harry’s mum was cut out of shot, only her arm visible in the photograph. Harry giggled. He looked for duct tape in his school supplies and attached the picture on the wall, right above of his bed. His whole body ached with love.

He showered and changed into comfy clothes and went downstairs when lunch was ready. Robin’s kids were there. They left after the meal, and Robin left with them to drive them back to Sheffield. Harry and Gemma helped Mum clean the house, sleepy and satisfied, and they fell asleep cuddling in the living room after having a cup of tea and cheesecake for dessert. Robin was back in time for dinner, so they ate the leftovers and waited for the _Doctor Who_ Christmas Special to air on BBC One.

It was very late when Harry put on his winter coat, boots, beanie and mittens, and adventured himself through the layers of snow to reach Louis’ house. The sky was extremely white, a reminder of the imminent snowstorm the weather channel had predicted earlier that night. He threw a snowball at Louis’ window.

The lights of the house were all out. Harry stumbled on one of the steps and Louis shushed him, trying not to burst into laughter.

“I can’t believe you came,” Louis murmured only slightly exasperated. “You shithead, it’s fucking freezing out there.”

“I know,” Harry hummed, kissing him to shut him up. His coat and boots were by the closed door, and his beanie and mittens somewhere by the bed. “I’m so romantic.”

“You’re fucking horny, is what you are.” Louis snorted.

“I can’t tell you you’re wrong.”

Louis pulled Harry closer, sprawled on the mattress under him. He scratched his scalp softly, fingers tangled in his curls, and Harry purred, burying his face where Louis’ neck met his shoulder.

“Did you like your gift?” Louis asked softly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t buy you anything. Money's a bit tight right now.”

“I love it.” Harry giggled. “You’re silly.”

“Well you _did_ spend your allowance buying me a gift, so now I feel bad.”

“I love the present,” Harry insisted, headbutting Louis gently. He tickled him. “I promise.”

“Stop!” Louis squawked, his legs jerking everywhere.

They heard footsteps in the corridor. Louis groaned and Harry rolled out of bed, hiding the best he could (he didn’t fit under the bed. At least he wasn’t going to try to). The bedroom door was opened and then,

“Boobear, please.” Harry heard Louis’ mum say. He choked down a snicker. “Your sisters are sleeping.”

“Sorry, mum. I just told myself a really funny joke.”

“Right. Is Harry staying over, then? I can see you, love.”

“Hi, miss Jay,” Harry said, blushing, and got up to sit on the bed next to Louis. “Sorry Louis was being loud.”

“Traitor!”

“Louis, please.” She rolled her eyes. “Try not waking the girls up, please, love? Goodnight, Harry.”

“Goodnight, miss Jay.”

“You’re such a kiss-ass,” Louis teased once his mum had left.

“Want me to kiss yours?”

Louis muffled a frustrated scream in his pillow, his cheeks clearly flushed. Please with himself, Harry smiled and snuggled up to him, biting his earlobe. The commentary was enough to rile Louis up. He pulled Harry for a proper snog.

“I bet I can make you come four times till the sun comes up,” he whispered, and then pinned Harry down. “I can be quite ambitious when I want to.”

Harry blinked his eyes open on Boxing Day to find Louis sound asleep beside him. He kissed the skin between his eyebrows and brushed his hair with tender fingers, ridiculously content. It was hard to get used to Louis beauty. Looking at him was often a bit like getting punched in the face. Very painful and it definitely took his breath away.

He got into his clothes, left the bedroom quietly, not wanting to disturb Louis. He needed to get home, shower, eat. He found Jay in the living room drinking her morning tea. She had the TV on mute and smiled at him faintly with half-lidded eyes.

“Morning, love. Want me to get you a cuppa?”

“Thanks, I’m okay. I should probably head home.”

Jay nodded. Harry could tell it was early. Sunlight was still pale and faint, and the sun was not high in the sky yet, even so for a winter morning.

“You’re good to him, you know that?” she said kindly.

“He’s good to me too,” Harry answered without thinking.

“That boy of mine has a heart of gold.” Jay chuckled, shaking her head at Harry. “But I mean it, Harry. You’re good to him. I think he felt lost before meeting you. He spent his nights getting into trouble with people who were not his real friends.”

Harry glanced at his boots awkwardly. Jay let out a heavy sigh.

“My life was pretty boring before I met him,” he decided to say in the end. “He showed me that not everything fits in a box. I like that.”

 _I love him_ , he thought suddenly, heart pounding. He wasn't surprised, was the thing.

Jay gave him a long, steady look. Her eyes were as blue as Louis’, and stared at Harry like they could see right through him, see how fast his heart was trying to burst his way out of his chest.

“He’s going to miss you a lot next year.”

_I love him I love him I love him_

He’d been so blissfully happy the last weeks that reality had escaped him, pushed and kept on the back of his mind, so well hidden he wasn’t sure how to deal with it now that it was surfacing again.

“I’m going to miss him too,” Harry declared. “Sorry, I should go. Bye, Mrs. Tomlinson.”

He turned his back to her and ran out of her house out of instinct, because he couldn’t remember how to breathe and her eyes were very knowing and he wanted to get away from those words slamming themselves violently into his brain.

He loved him. He loved him so much he was falling apart in the middle of the street, snowflakes covering him in white ice, looking pathetic to anyone how dared to pass by him. Harry loved Louis, but the big cosmic joke was on him: Louis was leaving in a matter of months. If he really stopped to think about it, Louis was already gone, always had been, and there was nothing Harry could do to change that. He had never planned on staying in Holmes Chapel. His heart had always been settle to follow a road Harry couldn’t. Not soon enough.

 

* * *

 

Louis’ brand new black Vans were on the dashboard. He sipped his peach flavoured iced tea, a poor choice of beverage on a day that cold, and blinked at the snow accumulated on the window screen. The heater was on, setting a bearable temperature, and from the radio came a song in low volume, _Laugh till we think we’ll die barefoot on a summer night never could be sweeter than with you and in the streets you run afree like it’s only you and me Geez you’re something to see._

Harry grabbed the steering wheel with more force than was necessary. They were sitting in Robin’s truck, parked on the driveway, and for the first time he felt extremely out of place. His gift to Louis stared back at him like a promise bound to the broken.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” said Louis, so softly his voice was barely audible over the music.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Harry replied through gritted teeth.

“We’ve been here for forty minutes. Are you sure ‘nothing’s wrong’?”

“Yes.”

“Is it you mum? Sister? Robin?”

“It’s us.”

“I see,” Louis hummed understandingly. “Tell me what’s wrong with us.”

“Nothing’s wrong with or about us,” Harry said quickly, turning to look at him. He took a deep breath. “It’s just. The year’s almost over. And you’re leaving in a few months. And I don’t want to sound like a fucking dickhead telling you to stay, because I don’t want you to stay, I mean, I do, but. I’m excited for you, I am. I’m so happy for you, Lou, I know you’ll get in wherever you apply to. But I’m also sad, you know? I still have two years stuck in this town. Without you.”

“I’m not leaving right away.” Louis frowned. He rested the empty can in the cup holder and held Harry’s hand. “Graduation’s not even until July. And we don’t know if I’m getting accepted.”

“Okay, but even if you don’t, which you will, are you going to stick around? You’ve always wanted to leave.”

“I might leave Holmes Chapel, yes, but Manchester is right around the corner.”

“I thought you wanted to go to London?” Harry shook his head, confused.

“Yeah, but. I chose Manchester. It’s closer,” Louis explained. His blue eyes looked very pale, greyish orbits staring at Harry kindly. “I can’t just fuck off and leave my girls alone. We don’t know how long Mark is going to stay. And I can’t leave you alone either.”

“I feel guilty,” Harry confessed.

“Don’t. This is really for the best.” Louis smiled a little. “I can tell you about how relieved mum is.”

“But you should be able to go wherever you want to go.”

“Yes, and I want to go to Manchester. London is too expensive anyway and smells like piss.”

“Manchester smells like piss.”

“Yeah, but I reckon Holmes Chapel is probably one of the only places in England that _doesn’t_ smell like piss. You’re _posh_.”

Harry nodded and fell quiet. He had so many things he wanted do say, but didn’t quite know how. Louis tilted his head to one side.

“Penny for you thoughts?” he joked.

“It's nothing. Let’s go inside. We can watch _The Walking Dead_ again.”

They ended up watching _Titanic_ for the hundredth time cuddled in bed; Louis knew it was Harry’s go-to movie when he was sad, even though it sounded a bit contradictory. They had a _Friends_ marathon and ate chocolate chip cookies and only stopped killing their braincells when Harry’s laptop died, no battery left for one single more episode. It felt like a wistful ultimatum. All that snow outside, a silence so loud it tickled the ears, and Louis’ mouth on his mouth, Louis’ mouth on his neck, Louis’ mouth on every inch of his body, possessive, longing, writing little love notes with his teeth, with his tongue, marking his skin.

Harry felt like his heart was beating everywhere in his body, miniature hearts pounding hard in his veins. He let Louis do to him whatever he wanted to him, things he couldn’t name out loud, things no one had ever done to him before, things that turned him inside out and left him bare and raw and aching. _I love him–_

“I love you,” he breathed out, closed fists tugging at Louis’ hair desperately. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“Shh, baby, don’t cry, I’ve got you,” Louis whispered in response to Harry’s sudden frantic litany. Harry hadn’t noticed there were tears streaming down his face. “It’s okay, you’re okay, I’ve got you. I love you. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

Harry was overflowing with every little thing he felt for that boy lying in his narrow bed, and it’d be enough to flood the world.

They locked themselves inside his room for the entire next day, and Harry pretended not to notice his Mum quizzical look when Louis finally headed out the front door.

There was a party at one of the Year 13 boys’ house on New Year’s Eve and everyone in school got invited, from Year 10 to 13. Harry wore his best sweater and Gemma fixed up his hair so his curls would look neatly messy, and Louis drove them to the party in Robin’s ancient truck, laughing madly as Gemma yelled the lyrics to the song playing on the radio, _Keep downing drinks like there’s no tomorrow there’s just right now._ Harry’s heart fluttered all the way to the boy’s house.

People were jumping without rhythm in the middle of the living room and the main lights were out and someone had installed green disco lights on the ceiling and it felt like being in the shittiest club in town. Gemma was guiding him to the centre of the room and Harry was a terrible dancer but he didn’t really care because they were the last people alive in the world and there was only one _right now_. He lost sight of Louis at some point. He couldn’t see the colour of the drinks his classmates and friends were pushing in his hands but they all tasted bitter and disgusting and nice, and his insides burned for so long he thought he’d suffer spontaneous combustion.

His legs were weightless from dancing and drinking and he pushed himself across the sea of sweaty bodies to look for the backyard. He needed to get some air. Late December wind hit his flushed face, the ground covered in snow, and he saw a couple of girls making snow angels under a naked tree a few meters from the porch. He saw Louis wrapped in his black winter coat smoking a joint with three people, sitting down on the porch steps. Harry shivered. He'd left coat somewhere back in the house.

“Hey babe,” Louis smiled at him, high out his ass, when the friends he’d been with had got inside the house again. He was blinking these really long blinks. “Aren’t you cold?”

“Missed you.” Harry giggled, his words slower than usual, and he threw himself at Louis. “Hug me, please!”

“Should you be drinking, mate?” Louis huffed an amused breath.

“’m almost seventeen,” Harry protested weakly. “Should you be smoking pot when you’re the DD?”

“It’s relaxing. I’m perfectly capable of driving.”

Harry rested his head on Louis’ shoulder, sighing. 2011 was going to be a good year, he thought, and he rubbed his cheek on Louis shoulder fondly. He was going to start working at the bakery. He was going to get the best grades and start searching for courses in Uni he was interested in because there was no such thing as too soon. He was going to save money, and then, when it was finally Summertime, he and Louis could go camping in Formby and visit London and drive to neighbouring towns to watch every movie Holmes Chapel small cinema wouldn’t air, and they could also attend Leeds Festival in August, only the two of them. It’d be a nice way to send Louis away.

“I’m going to start working at the bakery,” Harry said sleepily.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And I’m going to save money so we can go to Leeds Fest in August.”

“I’d love that,” Louis murmured, and there was fondness in his voice.

“You’re my first love, Lou,” Harry told him very seriously, very suddenly. It was important that Louis _knew._

And to which Louis replied, “You’re my favourite little drunk duckling.”

They danced together and joined the countdown when someone turned the lights and the TV on in the living room, and people gathered around to wait for midnight. Everyone was screaming and spilling drinks on the carpet and laughing. They didn’t kiss in front of their friends, but they did leave the party holding hands, and a drunk Gemma jumped on Harry’s shoulder to yell, _“I KNEW IT!!!  Knew it all along!! Mum and I had a bet”_. Harry fell face first in the snow at that.

Louis closed the curtains before joining Harry in his bed, fresh out of shower and smelling like apricot shampoo and minty body wash and so _Louis_ it almost hurt. He spooned Harry from behind, placing his hand tenderly on Harry’s chest, where he could feel the slow beating of his heart.

“Happy New Year, H.”

“We’ve got time, yeah?” Harry hummed softly, intertwining their fingers and closing his eyes.

“Yeah.” Softly, very softly. Then a kiss on the back of his heard, a nuzzle into his curls. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

“Happy New Year, Lou.”

In the morning, Harry thought, in the morning he’d kiss him senseless until there was no thought left but _here_ , and  _right now_.

 

**END**


End file.
